Gemotions

He found the place deserted, the silence oppressive. He’d driven an hour, fueled by a simmering rage that had been brewing since the phone call. The familiar curve of the road, the specific scent of the wildflowers – all betrayed him. Now, nothing but emptiness.

His hands balled into fists, his knuckles white. The air felt thick, difficult to breathe. He wanted to break something. He wanted to feel something other than the icy ache in his chest.

He ran a hand over the rough, sawn-off trunk, tracing the grain. Years of growth, silenced. Years of memories, wiped clean. He spat on the ground.